


Conflict Resolution

by fitzsimmonsy



Series: Married Fitzsimmons [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsy/pseuds/fitzsimmonsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Jemma are still angry when it’s time to go to bed. They resolve this fight a little differently than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to the fantastic SuburbanSun and ardentaislinn for the beta!

She met him as he came back into their room, his packed toiletries and his pillow in her hands. Fitz faced her, anger evident in the compression of his lips and brows, the high color on his cheeks. She knew she hid her own fury more effectively (mostly because he didn't care to hide his). 

“Here!” Jemma snapped, as she thrust his belongings into his hands. “Find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

He took what she'd shoved at him without thought, but then stared down at it, registering what it meant and what she'd said. He glared back up at her, eyes bright with outrage.

“No,” he bit back. “No way. This is my bunk, too. You can't just kick me out of my own bunk.”

“Oh, I can't?”

“Well, yes. Yes, you could, actually, if you decided to go with the nerve pinches and all that stuff. But that's totally not fair, because even if I knew how to do those things, I wouldn't do them to you.”

She rolled her eyes. He was never going to let that one moment from twelve years at the Academy go, was he? But it didn’t make what he said any less true and she knew it. To her complete and utter frustration at this very moment in time, she knew that he knew that she would never use her knowledge of the human body against him during one of their fights.

“Fine,” she growled.

“Fine!” he snipped back.

And they carried on with their usual bedtime routine, albeit in significant silence and with their movements more angular and stiff. She considered sleeping in some clothing, leaving on her panties and pulling on a T-shirt, as a deliberate distancing move. But she decided not to. First of all, he might think she was trying to protect, not distance, herself. Second, she didn't want him to think that she was going to change any of her usual behavior just because of him and their fight. And third, all the T-shirts she had that would be comfortable to sleep in had been pilfered from him.

He ended up crawling into bed naked as well.

The covers were extremely carefully and precisely divided, neither wishing to fall to the childish depths of jerking the blankets back and forth. Fitz dimmed the lights to exactly the level he did every night, which was... actually, fine with her, so she wasn't going to stoop to readjusting them.

They lay rigid upon their backs for a number of long minutes, staring up into the shadows on the ceiling, hyper aware of one another, just a hand's breadth away. Then, much to Jemma’s satisfaction, Fitz broke. He turned onto his side to face away from her, a tacit admission he needed distance from her in order to feel calm enough to fall asleep. She then did something she would never have done if could he have seen her -- she smirked triumphantly. Closing her eyes, she smugly composed herself for sleep.

She'd been lying there for about a minute, when she noticed the tiny rhythmic jostles of the bed. It didn’t take her very long to figure out the cause – Fitz was jerking off. Right there, right next to her. Not with great, obvious, masturbatory gestures and noises. But he wasn’t hiding it, either. And now that she was aware of his activity, she could hear a near inaudible rustling: his fist rubbing against the sheets.

For a moment she lay frozen, astonished. Not by the simple fact that he was jerking off. Because she knew, despite their rather active sex life, that he regularly took himself in hand for a little private pleasure.  _ Private _ pleasure. Not right there in the bed with no thought of her right next to him.

So his turning away hadn't signaled a retreat, a need for distance to find his calm. No. He'd been going for room to maneuver. To show her. What, exactly, she wasn't sure. Maybe that he didn't need her to gain sexual satisfaction.

Well, two could certainly play at that game. She slid her right hand down her body, knowing he would hear the sound of skin stroking over skin. She brought her left up to cup a breast, aware he'd feel the pull of the blankets on his shoulder when she did so. Fingertips met the curls at her groin and slid into them. She took time to allow herself to enjoy that slight tugging while she tweaked her nipple to pebbled hardness. All the while, listening to the sound of Fitz's fist against the sheet. Which had gotten just a little louder, just a little swifter.

Unexpected pleasure twinged down low in her belly, and she ran her fingers along her crease before pressing them in deeper, their tips dipping into the sudden flow of wetness. Parting her legs slightly, she brought her now slick fingertips up, circling, teasing herself as she made her clit slippery.

He'd clearly felt her movement because she heard his breath catch, and Jemma knew he knew she knew...and so on. She spread her legs wider, though she really didn't need to; she knew he'd notice her doing so, and shifted her left hand to her other breast. The busy fingers of both hands kindled wave after wave of burning sweetness from deep inside herself.

Fitz giggled.

He didn't stop playing with himself, but he continued to giggle on and off, little spurts of amusement escaping from his nose. Annoyance flared in her, which was rapidly muted, however, twisting into wry humor. While he was certainly laughing at her, he was laughing just as much at himself, and the essentially meaningless tangle they'd gotten themselves into.

She lifted her left hand from her breast, setting it on his hip, and he turned onto his back, tossing the covers off himself to give him free access to his erection. Her hand slid lower, to rest on his thigh, and he switched his grip – one advantage of being fairly ambidextrous – so he could put his near hand on her thigh.

And so they remained, side by side, their breathing meshing, deepening, each with a hand resting on the other’s thigh. She slitted her eyes, watching his fist pump up and down on his rigid shaft, tiny spasms jerking his body every time he did. Her fingers sped up, sometimes shifting from her clit to push deep into her slippery pussy, aching now with her arousal.

On the brink, her breath coming in great sighs, she paused, her gaze flicking up to Fitz's face. Eyes closed, lips parted, brows lifted in what looked like amazement, she thought him completely lost within himself, in his own pleasure.

Then he moaned, almost inaudibly, “Jem...ma...” His back arched as he thrust his cock up into his own hand, his whole body shaking as he came. She watched as ejaculate spurted, flowing over his knuckles, her own fingers moving now with a merciless efficiency. A wave of ecstasy washed up her spine, crashing in a blinding white behind her eyes.

A minute or so later, she said a bit muzzily, “I'm still mad at you.” His tongue, warm, wet, and savoring on the fingers of her right hand, was a bit distracting. “What you said was way out of line.”

“The how of what I said, yes. Yes, it was.” He carefully set her damp hand on her stomach, before falling back onto his pillow. “It was petty and low. And I'm sorry. But I meant the what of what I said, and I'm still mad, too. You never should have done what you did.”

After a moment, she said, “I had to do it. But you're right, I could've been more careful. I'm sorry.”

He grunted, grabbing the covers to drag them over both of them. He lay still for a bit, digesting what she'd just said, then sighed. A long silence followed and she thought the talking was done. But then he said, “So. Are you still gonna be mad when we wake up?”

“Don't know. You?”

“Probably not,” he admitted breezily. “I don't have your staunchness of character. The flesh is weak, you know, and I am easily swayed by fleshy stuff.” He gestured towards her, a grin on his lips. “So I'm unlikely to put up any effective defense of my virtue, should it come under attack any time soon.”

“Mm,” she replied noncommittally, trying not to laugh. But she was smiling, and she knew he could see that. And when he spooned up behind her as she rolled onto her side, she curled her fingers around his wrist, pulling his arm over her so he could cup his palm over her lower breast. Jemma decided, just before sleep dragged her under, to wake up a half hour before their alarm went off. Just to see just how mad at her husband she still was. 

She suspected probably not very much at all.


End file.
